Page 7 of Just Come Over
“What would that be on Mondays and Fridays, exactly? You’re not doing cleaning, are you?” Rhys asked Zora, his blood running cold at the thought.
Wait. No. The pink van. It sounded—itlooked—like massage. Surely she wasn’t an outcall massage therapist. She could get herself into too many dodgy situations that way, the size that she was. If that was it—or if it was the cleaning—he didn’t care whether it was appropriate, he was speaking up and stepping in.
He hadn’t said she shouldn’t have sold the house in the hills, had he? That she should have come to him first, because that house had to be appreciating at twenty percent a year? This place couldn’t be ninety square meters. It was smaller than his first apartment, the road was too busy, and it didn’t even have a heat pump. Yes, this little corner where they were sitting was cozy, with the brick wall and the fire and all, but she’d given up too much, selling that house on one of the best streets in Titirangi—what?—six years after they’d bought? Five? He hadn’t said anything about that. He was going to say something about this.
“Of course I’m not doing cleaning,” Zora said, and laughed. “Or whatever else you’re imagining. The look on yourface,Rhys.” Isaiah was laughing, too, but Rhys was waiting to laugh himself until he heard what it actually was. “I’m doing flowers, of course, same as before.”
“Oh.” He felt stupid, as well as relieved. “Right. But not in the shop anymore? I thought the flowers were temporary. You got your diploma in architecture.”
“And it’s not worth much without some other things. Internships that you don’t wait years after your diploma to apply for, for one. I’ve got a gap in my CV so big, you could drive a truck through it. Never mind. I love doing flowers, they fit into my life better than architecture ever would, and I’m on my own now, doing them the way I like. Edgy. Modern. Zora’s Florals. Didn’t you see the van? Pink, with orange and purple flowers and all the greenery? Came out so well. I need a new van, and I think half the reason I’ve put it off is because I love the paint job. Plus, this one’s got me through heaps. We may have been stuck on the side of the motorway together a time or two, but she’s always carried me home, in the end.”
“Mum does subscriptions,” Isaiah fortunately said, before Rhys gothimselfstuck explaining how the pink van had definitelynotlooked, no, not at all, like it belonged to a massage therapist, or saying what he thought about her being stuck on the side of the motorway. The boy continued, “It’s businesses on Monday, so they have flowers during the week, and houses on Friday. It’s brilliant. She read about it in a magazine, and she was the first one to do it. Now, there’s more competition, so that’s harder, but she’s the best one.”
“Isaiah and I could be a wee bit prejudiced,” Zora put in.
“She gets up at five on Mondays and Fridays, though,” Isaiah said. “I have to go to school those days, so I can’t help. But at the weekend, I do.”
“That’s right,” Zora said. “That’s the other best thing about our new house, is that we have such a good workroom.”
“Besides that it’s two hundred dollars a week cheaper.” Isaiah again, of course. The kid was obsessed with money. “That’s why we have two hundred forty-five dollars extra,” he told Rhys. “Because the other house was all in... in...”
“Equity,” Zora said. “Worth heaps, but not doing anything for us. So now we’re here, cozy as bugs, ten minutes’ walk to school and about two to the shop, and around the corner from the Waitakeres, if we want to have a walk and a chat after a hard day, or maybe invite a mate along. But besides that, I’ve got a shed somebody was using as a darkroom, with a sink and tap and electrics, room for all my gear and a fridge, and with a concrete pad underneath that stays cool. I’m ten steps from the back door and Isaiah, and that’s why we say we have a better house now.” Her eyes dared Rhys to contradict her. “Exactly the right size.”
“And the shed stays extra-cool in summer,” Isaiah said, “because we put Pink Batts up above the ceiling.”
“Insulation,” Rhys said.
“Yeh. I handed them, and Mum shoved them in. And now it’s cool enough for flowers. Afterwards, we did it in the whole house, because we’d learnt how. So it’s warmerandcooler. Depending. Also, I think the gas bill will be less.”
“Hayden could’ve helped with that, surely,” Rhys said.
“Hayden,” Zora said with another flash from those dark eyes, “has his own life. And Isaiah’s right. Insulation’s easy as to install. We did it ourselves.”
The power cut happened while they were doing the washing-up. Zora had already sent Isaiah to bed with another ice pack, and Rhys had told himself it was only brotherly to do the washing-up with her before he left.
One moment, he was tipping the contents of a slow cooker into a plastic container, and she was loading the dishwasher. The next, a clap of thunder seemed to hit the house at the same moment the sky lit up bright, the two things together like a flash-bang grenade going off, and Zora let out a startled squeak. Rhys set down the pot in the dark, feeling for the edge of the plastic container so he wouldn’t tip butter chicken all over the kitchen, and turned, his hands outstretched, to find those candles.
He’d forgotten how small the space was. One step, and he bumped into something soft. When he pulled his hand back, it landed on something that could never, ever have been anything but a woman’s breast, and he realized he was behind her, and pressed too close. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could identify the parts just fine. A frozen second, and he jumped away, crashed into the benchtop, caught his elbow on something, and felt it sink down into wetness.
A flare of light, then another one. She’d found the candles. She brought one over, her face lit from below like a Byzantine saint on a postcard, then started to laugh.
“You’re helpful, mate,” she said. “Oh, what a mess. Oh, bugger. There’s tomorrow’s lunch gone.”
He already had a bad feeling. He looked down. Yes. Hehadtipped over the plastic container of butter chicken, rice, and peas, and half of it was on the benchtop and oozing down the cabinet. The other half was on his arm and down his side.
He started to smile, and she laughed harder, until he had no choice but to join in, then start sopping up the mess with a roll of paper towel and chucking it into the bin. “Now,” he said, “I owe you two dinners.”
“I reckon you do. Especially if I tell Isaiah, and he puts it on his list. You may have noticed that he keeps track of things. Give me two or three of those.” She wet them at the sink, then grabbed his wrist and started sponging down his arm.
He froze. He couldn’t help it. He wished the light were better when she stepped back, slapped the towels into his hand, and said, sounding a little breathless, “You can finish that up better than I can.”
Wonderful. She’d noticed. He said, “Adventures in curry. I should be going before I do any more damage.”
“Probably. Especially as you have a new house of your own. You’ll need to take some candles, and a box of matches. There are more in the closet.”
“Nah. I’ll go back to the hotel instead. I’ll have a restart tomorrow, when the worst of the storm’s passed. I need to do some work tonight to get ready for training in the morning, especially if we’re doing it in the wet.”
“Because you’re coaching,” she said. “Here.”
